Temperate Forest

An aranea is an intelligent, shapechanging spider with sorcerous powers. In its natural form, an aranea resembles a humpbacked spider a little bigger than a human, and weighs about 150 pounds. The hump on its back houses the aranea’s brain. All araneas have a single alternate form as well—this alternate form is that of a Small or Medium humanoid. Although an aranea can assume a spider-hybrid variant of this form, it cannot use its change shape ability to assume multiple humanoid forms—this additional shape is locked into one unique appearance. Araneas typically gather in small colonies of two to six individuals, making webbed nests high in trees. These colonies work together to research magic, and may change membership many times over as individuals leave to pursue their own studies and are replaced by newer members. A single aranea may take on humanoid form and live for years in a humanoid community, never revealing its true nature. Though araneas generally prefer to be left alone, they often prove quite knowledgeable about the ways of magic, and if approached peacefully may be willing to share their expertise for the right price (typically a magic item or some service). Skilled spellcasters, araneas try to avoid physical combat and use their webs and spells when they can. Rather than kill their enemies, araneas often subdue opponents and hold them for ransom.

Named for its resemblance to a 10-armed octopus, the strange decapus is one of many bizarre creatures that hail from the deepest caverns of the world. When they are encountered aboveground, their affinity for forests (they particularly enjoy clambering around in tangled canopies) suggests that their original source might be some strange, deep underground cavern wherein magical jungles grow. The decapus is a fairly intelligent creature—an ambush predator that makes excellent use of its ability to weave magical visual illusions and to imitate the voices of other creatures it has heard speaking. Typical decapuses know only the Aklo tongue, but when they use their sound mimicry ability to imitate creatures speaking in other languages, they can typically form short (up to three words long) sentences even when imitating a language they don’t actually know. The decapus’s physical structure most resembles that of a bloated octopus with 10 tentacles. It lacks bones and takes its shape from its rubbery, muscular flesh. Most have sickly, olive skin patched with scraggly tangles of hair, with darker blue or purple coloration around their faces and crimson or orange tips to their tentacles. These tentacles are covered with tiny suction cups and hooks, affording them great skill at climbing or clutching prey. On the ground, though, they are slow, plodding creatures that flop and wriggle relatively inefficiently. As a result, they prefer regions like forest canopies, narrow fissures, stalactite forests, or other regions where they can use their climb speed. The decapus favors humanoid flesh over all other food; most are quite fond of gnome flesh in particular. This creature has an enormous appetite that often drives it to consume whatever food is available—the decapus is not above cannibalism when other food sources are scarce. For this reason, these monsters are largely solitary creatures, except when the urge to mate overwhelms their urge to feed. Females give birth to small litters of 2–4 live offspring. The females often need to defend them from the males, which, if left unsupervised, typically eat the newborn decapuses. The young mature rapidly, growing to full size after a mere 7 to 11 months, after which they depart to claim their own territories. Once a decapus reaches maturity, it can live to 100 years old—although their violent natures usually result in much shorter lifespans. A typical decapus has a legspan of 8 feet and weighs 200 pounds.

Nearly 10 feet long, giant stag beetles become serious dangers when they wander into logging camps due to their appetite for decaying wood. Called stag beetles because of their large, antler-like mandibles, they use these appendages to wrestle competing suitors and quickly put down enemy threats.

Most half-celestials are born of a mortal who loved a good outsider, but powerful holy magic can also create one.

Korreds are an ancient fey race who like forested areas with nice, rocky ground. They resemble small, wild-haired humanoids with wild, knotted hair. Korreds especially like to dance in ancient stone circles within forest glades, often led by satyrs with panpipes. They are a shy race and do not take kindly to outsiders discovering them, even by accident. They almost always attack non-korreds who stumble into their territory, seeking to kill them or at least drive them off. Korred clothing normally consists of a simple leather apron, jerkin, or kilt, leaving their legs uncovered and their feet bare. Their clothes usually have a large pocket or pouch to hold their belongings. A korred’s hair and beard grow quickly, sometimes an inch a day, and the korred trims its hair when the locks become too unruly, saving the trimmings in its pocket so it can weave them into ropes for its animate rope spell-like ability.

Nightmare creatures have an unnatural link to the most terrifying parts of the Dimension of Dreams, allowing them to turn others’ dreams into nightmares and sow fear even in the waking world. Corrupted by their power, they become evil and use their abilities to torment their enemies and abuse creatures weaker than themselves. Eventually this dream connection corrupts the creature’s appearance into a bizarre caricature of its original form. A nightmare creature uses its ability to control dreams to confuse and frighten its target with horrendous imagery— visions of failure or betrayal and horrific scenes of murder and death. A nightmare creature may even allow the target to think it is in control of the dream or has awakened from a nightmare, only to snatch away that hope and send its target into a downward spiral of misery and self-doubt. The most wicked nightmare creatures tend to become ghosts if slain, returning again and again to haunt their chosen victims.

The origin of the owlbear is a subject of great debate among scholars of the monstrous creatures of the world. However, most concur that at some point in the distant past, a deranged wizard created the original specimens by crossing an owl with a bear—perhaps as proof of some insane concept about the nature of life, but possibly out of sheer lunacy. Whatever the original purpose of such a freakish creation as the owlbear, the creature bred true and has become quite wellestablished in woodlands across the world, where it plays a key role in a region’s ecosystem as an apex predator. Owlbears are notoriously bloodthirsty killers, well known for their short tempers, aggression, and savage nature. They tend to attack without provocation, slaughtering any living creatures that cross their paths. Many scholars that have encountered these creatures in the wild have noted that they all have red-rimmed eyes that roll about wildly when they close in for an attack. This is sometimes presented as a sign of madness, suggesting that all owlbears are born with a pathological need to f ight and kill, but more level-headed researchers believe that it’s simply part of the way the massive bird-beast’s keen eyes are constructed. Owlbears generally inhabit desolate areas of the wilderness, making their messy lairs within wild forests or inside dark, shallow caverns. They are equally adept at hunting during the day and at night, depending upon the prey available near their lairs. Adult owlbears live in mated pairs, and hunt in small groups, leaving their young behind in their lairs while they search for prey. A typical owlbear lair contains 1d6 juveniles, which can fetch a price of up to 3,000gp apiece in many city markets. While it is considered impossible to truly domesticate owlbears due to their feral natures, they can still be used as guardians if contained within an area but allowed to roam and hunt freely there. Professional animal trainers charge up to 2,000gp to rear or train an owlbear into a serviceable guardian that can obey simple commands (DC 23 for a juvenile creature; DC 30 for a fully grown adult). A full-grown male can stand as tall as 8 feet and weighs up to 1,500 pounds.

Perhaps the best-known and most elusive of all fey creatures, pixies live in the deepest, most pristine forests, but their insatiable curiosity often leads them far from home. Most pixies stand just over 2 feet tall—though they typically fly about the eye level of creatures they’re conversing with in order to maintain eye contact— and weigh about 30 pounds. Pixies talk quickly and easily become overexcited. Strange beings both of and beyond the natural world, pixies have magic that occasionally favors them in strange ways. For example, one out of every 10 pixies exhibits an additional spell-like ability that it can use once per day (caster level 8th), usually baleful polymorph, beast shape II (Tiny creatures only), or even a powerful spell like irresistible dance. Alternatively, you can change the types of effects that pixie dust can have on arrows—as a general rule, these alternate effects should be mind-affecting effects. Confusion, fear, hideous laughter, and hypnotism are all good choices for variant pixie arrow powers. You should take care when assigning alternate powers to a pixie, though, since doing so can create a threat that far exceeds what their physical statistics (and relatively low CR) can logically support.

Satyrs, known in some regions as fauns, are debauched and hedonistic creatures of the deepest, most primeval parts of the woods. They adore wine, music, and carnal delights, and are renowned as rakes and smooth-talkers, wooing unwary maidens and shepherd boys and leaving a trail of awkward explanations and unplanned pregnancies in their wakes. Though their bodies are almost always those of attractive and well-built men, much of the satyrs' talent for seduction lies in their talent for music. With the aid of his eponymous pipes, a satyr is capable of weaving a wide variety of melodic spells designed to enchant others and bring them in line with his capricious desires. In addition to their constant frolicking, satyrs often act as guardians of the creatures in their forest homes, and any who manage to turn the satyr’s lust to wrath are likely to find themselves facing down dangerous animals surrounding the faun. Still, while satyrs tend to value their own amusement well above the rights of others, they bear no ill will toward those they seduce. Children born from such encounters are always full-blooded satyrs, and are generally spirited away by their riotous kin soon after birth.

The slicer beetle sports specialized mouthparts that scissor apart flesh for easier consumption. Each side of its horizontally closing mandibles fits into the other with barely a hair’s breadth to spare. These creatures prefer to dwell in compact caves or warrens. A typical slicer beetle measures 10 feet long and weighs 800 pounds.

The noble giant owl roosts in the tallest trees or in high caves near its forest home. No mere animals, giant owls pride themselves as intellectuals and keen judges of character. Little passes a giant owl’s notice in its home forest. What it doesn’t observe directly, it learns from its wide network of animal informants. Giant owls view themselves more as watchers than participants, rarely interfering in the affairs of others barring a threat to their homes. Giant owls stand 18 feet tall and have 30-foot wingspans, yet they rarely weigh over 600 pounds.

A troop of goblins is a frenzied mass of gnashing teeth, thrashing limbs, and wildly swinging knives. Goblins in a troop gain bravery in numbers and eagerly assault creatures they should have no business attacking. Horses and dogs are particularly hated targets and, if present, generally endure the brunt of the goblin troop’s attention.

An amalgam of dangerous creatures, this predator, as its name suggests, prefers to hunt and feed upon spiders. Their greatest boon to spider hunting, aside from their stinger, ability to fly, and strong pincers, is their ability to slip through the stickiest of webs in order to get to their prey. Unfortunately for other creatures, when a spider eater is denied its preferred prey, it seeks out any living creature it can find to serve as a host for its ravenous young. When hunting, a spider eater drops from the air onto its victim, stinging the prey with its barbed tail. The creature then returns to the air and hovers, waiting for its venom to take hold. Once the opponent succumbs to paralysis, the spider eater lands again, either to feed or implant its egg. Although more intelligent than the typical beast, to the point where it can understand a language (usually Aklo), the spider eater is relatively slow-witted. Nevertheless, it is intelligent enough that it resists training—those who seek to ally with spider eaters must befriend them via diplomacy and gifts of spiders to feed upon or implant eggs into, or via intimidation and coercion. A spider eater measures roughly 14 feet long and stands 6 feet tall. The creature has a wingspan just over 20 feet and weighs almost 2,000 pounds.

In certain wilderness regions, strange corruptions of nature fester and grow where the boundaries between this world and the Abyss grow thin. Dangerous and evil fungal creatures rise to power in these blighted reaches, such as sinister fungus queens or legions of undead spore zombies, but when fey creatures become infused with this corruption and are themselves blighted, the resulting monstrosities are particularly vile.  The typical Abyssal blight manifests as a black and greasy fungal rot that sways tree branches and limbs where no wind propels them, and a mystic network of fell power extends an unnatural awareness between nearby blighted fey. Dryads are often the most insidious of these corrupted fey; they lure humanoids to literally and spiritually dark places to beget more daughters from their dark embrace— and further spread the disease. The dryads connect through a unified but tainted mystic field that transcends their ordinary limitations and permits them to treat all infected trees as their own bonded trees. Only magic such as miracle, limited wish, or wish can sever the connection to the Abyss and cure a blighted fey, restoring the creature to its uncorrupted state if it fails to resist the transformation with a successful Will saving throw against the spell in question. Of course, once the blight takes hold, a fey creature is corrupted not only in body but in mind as well, and any attempts to cure such a fey creature are bound to be met with violence.  The process of creating a blighted fey can vary. In some cases, the transformation requires a new fey creature to be bound in blighted fungal tendrils and to languish within the corrupted region for 24 hours, but in other cases the blight might affect a creature almost instantaneously. The potential to resist such corruption with a successful saving throw varies, as does the DC to resist such an effect. A wish, limited wish, or miracle can transform a fey creature into a blighted fey in much the same way this magic can be used to rescue a blighted creature from its corruption.  Although the ooze creatures known as blights share a name with the planar corruption that creates blighted fey, these two types of creatures do not get along. In fact, blights often see the advance of an Abyssal incursion into their natural territory as much of an affront as the encroachment of mortal civilization, and in such cases those who oppose either group can sometimes find allies in the enemies of their enemy. Blights are usually the more difficult of the two to reach an accord with, but one should always tread with caution when dealing with the blighted fey.

Chalicotheriums are massive creatures resembling sloths with vaguely equine heads and long forelimbs ending in wickedly sharp claws. While the size and the claws of these creatures make them seem fierce, they are generally docile animals and become aggressive only in the defense of their homes and offspring. They typically fight only until the invaders have fled, but if their young are threatened, they will not relent until the attacker is dead, even if they must pursue it for a great distance to be sure.  These herbivorous creatures are generally found alone or in pairs, along with any of their young.  A typical adult chalicotherium is about 10 feet tall at the shoulder and 12 feet long from nose to rump, and weighs 14,000 pounds.

Delgeths are a unique breed of ungulate native to magical forests and places where the line between the natural and the supernatural is blurred. A delgeth’s soaring core body temperature manifests in the elk-like creature’s flaming hooves and smoldering antlers, both of which the beast uses to defend itself. A delgeth also employs its flames to mark its territory during mating season, stamping out boundaries of scorched grass in intricate patterns to indicate its location to others of its kind.  Delgeths are unpredictable creatures, and are equally as likely to run from predators as they are to stand their ground and face off against aggressors. Either way, a delgeth is sure to leave a fiery reminder of its passing, as the beast’s flaming hooves blaze a telltale trail through the brush.  Tribal cultures and scholars of the supernatural alike hold the majestic delgeth in awe. Though delgeths have innate connections to flame, they live in balance with the natural world in the wooded territories where they roam. They refrain from allowing their flames to run uncontrolled in the environment, instead allowing natural fires to periodically purge the forest of excess deadwood.  A typical delgeth stands 4 feet tall at the shoulder and weighs 200 pounds.

A psychepore is a symbiosis of two different plant creatures—a lurching bit of undergrowth distantly related to the shambling mound and an intelligent cluster of hard fungal growths that possess a malevolent hive mind. On their own, the shambling undergrowth is an unintelligent creature, barely aware enough to move itself to new sources of sunlight and water, while the fungal conks, for their part, are intelligent but immobile. The two pose a serious threat only once the psychic fungus infests the shambling undergrowth, and the creatures transform into the horrifying psychepore.  A psychepore procreates through microorganisms in its poison, spreading into victims fungal spores that try to bond with that host’s physiology to create a new psychepore. Generally, the only creatures with which these spores can coexist are the shambles that form the base of a psychepore, but these spores also have strange effects on creatures that aren’t their typical hosts. Such creatures suffer from delusional visions as their minds try to assimilate or reject the images presented by the alien will of the strange symbionts, and their bodies desperately attempt to force the foreign spores out. Some cultures harvest psychepores to distill their poison into a powerful drug, using it in religious rituals that search for inner knowledge or in dark alleys as a temporary escape from cruel, short lives—or transforming it into a truth serum used during psychological torture and other types of interrogation.  Most psychepores attack only in vain attempts to procreate, never seeming frustrated by their usually futile efforts, but more intelligent specimens pursue less direct but more fruitful approaches, often serving those who aid in gathering the undergrowth they need to replicate. There are rumors of even more highly developed and intelligent versions of these creatures that learn the secrets of telepathy and how to adjust their poison to replicate possession magic. These super-intelligent psychepores become more aware of cultural structures and take great joy in manipulating other forms of life to achieve their goals.  A psychepore is a hulking thing with a dense composition. It stands 6 feet tall or slightly taller and weighs about 300 pounds.

Wood giants are the wardens of the deepest, wildest portions of the world’s forests. Unlike many of their kin, wood giants are slow to anger, peaceful, and artistic, and display an infinite patience in their duty. A wood giant’s role is to preserve and protect the wilderness—a role they believe that nature itself granted them, the proof of which manifests in their magical abilities tied to the natural world. Wood giant culture is as complex as their forest homes. Much of a tribe’s time is spent tending to a forest’s health: planting new trees, clearing away dead brush, and hunting abominations that pervert the natural order. Individuals may even cultivate their forest homes into elaborate demesnes, mazes, or living temples. They are an isolated race, only rarely meeting to trade with other tribes or the occasional elven settlement. While primarily good-natured, wood giants are distrustful of outsiders and prone to great melancholies. Small clans claim enormous tracts of wooded land, but rarely build permanent homes. Members may spread out over their entire region by day only to gather and bed down, exposed to the elements, after sundown. In harsh weather, tribes cluster close together in the densest thickets with their backs turned outward. Wood giants stand 14 feet tall and weigh 1,200 pounds. They are vegetarians by choice, resorting to eating meat only when no other option is available.

Many have lost their lives in vain search of the beauty of the nymph, and many more to the madness and obsession their grace has upon minds and bodies unprepared for their companionship. Yet the nymph herself is not a cruel creature—a guardian of nature’s purest places and most beautiful realms, she treats those who respect her and her abode with kindness, and may even favor someone who takes her fancy with magical gifts. Yet those who would seek to abuse or harm her or her home quickly find that behind her beauty is a fierce protector more than capable of defending her charge.

The enormous deadfall scorpion is disturbingly stealthy for a creature of its size. So named for the creatures’ habit of making their lairs amid the hollows created by deadfalls of old trees, deadfall scorpions adorn their already camouflaged carapaces with moss and old branches, then lie in wait to ambush prey when it draws near. They prefer to drag their prey back to their hidden deadfall lairs to eat, and thus incidental treasure can often be found within such a den. A deadfall scorpion is 24 feet long and weighs 10,000 pounds.

These carnivorous plants prize human and elven flesh, but eat anything they manage to catch. Quickwoods typically explore an area, taking note of any oak trees, and then root themselves and wait for prey to wander by. They use their oaksight ability to maintain constant surveillance of their hunting grounds and send their roots out to drag likely prey back to them.

Fiercely territorial, the brutish nependises drive away any other large predators from their hunting grounds, even others of their kind. Only mated pairs caring for a litter tolerate each other, and even they separate once the offspring are old enough to fend for themselves. Nependises favors intelligent prey, fey in particular, both for the taste and the thrill of the hunt. They ambush opponents by jumping down from trees, grabbing the creatures, then retreating to find a safe place to eat. When challenged in its territory, a nependis drops from the trees, roars, then fights on foot. A nependis’s sharp hooves allow it to climb trees as well as a great cat, leaving telltale scars in the bark. While nependises appear as hybrids of apes and boars, they aren’t related to either. Some ascribe the origins of these creatures to a clan of ogres cursed into monstrous forms, or guardians bred and raised by the fey who later turned upon their former masters. A full-grown nependis stands 9 feet tall and weighs 600 pounds. A newborn nependis takes 4 years to reach maturity. Nependises rarely die from natural causes, and they live as long as 80 years.

These aggressive, ambulatory brambles closely resemble large patches of normal bushes, a similarity they take advantage of with deadly efficacy. Although they are autotrophic, blood brambles also gain water and nutrients by consuming the blood of living creatures. They are avid hunters, though they are not known to be territorial. On rare occasions, they may take up permanent residence, but only in regions where both sunlight and prey remain plentiful, such as along trade routes.  Blood brambles attack by rushing into their opponent’s space and weakening individuals by mercilessly thrashing them with thick, spiny vines.  A typical blood bramble is 12 feet wide and has a height of 7 feet. Its thorny flowers are most often a deep red, though a variety of different colors have been reported.

The tremendously dangerous nulmind is a fungal creature believed by many sages to have extraterrestrial origins. It is drawn to areas of innate magical power or populated by spellcasters, feasting off the magic in the area while slowly wearing down the inhabitants’ mental faculties with mind-numbing thoughts and images. Users of psychic magic prove to be favored targets, as their mental energy is especially empowering to the fungi. A creature that succumbs to a nulmind’s mind drain aura might eventually become enslaved to the fungus’s alien will, the nulmind using such unfortunate creatures to draw in further prey. A creature enslaved in this way is incapable of seeing to even its own basic needs, becoming a simple extension of the nulmind’s need to feed.  Left unchecked, a nulmind rapidly depletes the local wildlife, as its mindless servants starve to death. Animal life provides very little sustenance for the creature, and a nulmind inevitably works to find richer sources of intelligence and spell power to devour. This sometimes leads the fungus to communities on the border of its forest or to gravitate toward woodland-bound druidic circles. Because of this, druid enclaves often actively hunt and destroy these creatures before they can wreak havoc on the local ecosystem. Despite the fungi’s plantlike nature, most druidic communities view nulminds as anathema to the natural order.  Nulminds are fortunately rare, with no documented culture or organization. These creatures rarely work well in concert, as each is ultimately selfish and sees only to its own needs, draining even its fellows without hesitation. Despite their insatiability, nulminds seem to lack a taste for the mental energy of fey creatures. While the fungi still defend themselves against fey creatures, they go out of their way to avoid areas where such creatures live.  A nulmind moves by compressing and shifting its body, creeping slowly like a caterpillar. A nulmind is about 3 feet long and weighs 50 pounds.

Green dragons dwell in the ancient forests of the world, prowling under towering canopies in search of prey. Of all the chromatic dragons, green dragons are perhaps the easiest to deal with diplomatically.

An alraune relies on its supernaturally soothing odor to render enemies incapable of making hostile acts against it—even if the alraune attacks a foe, its calming scent can wipe away any thoughts of violence from its prey. At rest, an alraune appears to be merely a large thorny plant with a single enormous and brightly colored flower at its center. When an alraune attacks, its thorny vines lash out and its flower blooms, revealing an attractive, green-skinned humanoid form within. An alraune’s apparent gender can vary even from encounter to encounter, for the plant can reshape its humanoid portions as it desires to increase the likelihood of setting its victims at ease. Regardless of the plant’s apparent gender, it is itself asexual and reproduces (typically once or twice per decade) by budding a single offspring over the course of a spring season. Despite their appearance, alraunes are quite mobile (capable of walking almost like a spider upon their numerous long roots and thorny vines). They hunt by using commune with nature to locate potential prey, preferring humanoid flesh over all others. When an alraune needs prey, it uses its mind-affecting abilities to convince foes to dig their own graves and bury themselves—once a foe is helplessly buried in the soil, the alraune can feed from it via its flesh-burrowing roots, converting the victim’s blood and memories into the strange nutrients it so craves.

This sinister beast threatens entire countrysides with its plundering actions. No friend to its true dragon cousins, a gorynych sometimes threatens green and black dragons for mastery of their lands. A gorynych seeks out young dragons that have only established small hoards, killing the rival creatures and claiming their treasures as its own. It dominates drakes and wyverns, but true dragons consider it a repulsive throwback to an ancient line of mutants and deviants. Motivated by greed, gluttony, and unnatural lust, a gorynych lives to collect treasure, feast as often as possible, and chase after humanoid maidens, using alter self and charm person as necessary. Gorynyches are particularly creative with the use of their limited wishes in duplicating other spell effects to secure their desires and complete their hideous tasks. When not busily stalking young dragons in order to steal their hoard or selecting maidens to kidnap, most gorynyches search out ancient ruins. There they install themselves as guardians, sometimes even gathering whole tribes of monstrous humanoids to act as their servants.

A hamadryad is the queen of her forest and the leader of all the dryads within it. Much as a dryad is bonded with one tree and is devoted to it, a hamadryad loves her chosen forest; while she does not sicken and die if separated from it, she loathes such separation. All nonevil woodland creatures acknowledge her as the wisest of dryads and respect her gifts of healing and diplomacy. In most forests, a hamadryad is the sister or wife of an erlking, and represents the protective, patient, and nurturing aspect of nature. With her healing magic, she can relieve the suffering of a dryad whose tree has been killed and sustain her long enough for her to bond with another tree. A hamadryad prefers to avoid direct confrontations, instead using her magic and allies to divert, confuse, and even befriend any would-be enemies. Her powers allow her to speak with or quickly travel to her subjects even when they are in the most remote parts of the forest. As a consequence, little happens in the forest without her knowledge, and those who enter her realm would do well to remember this.

Erlkings guard the wildest, most pristine reaches of nature, and lead other fey to reclaim defiled lands. Most forest creatures acknowledge an erlking as king of the forest and arbiter in disputes between the people of the wilds. In most forests, an erlking is the brother or consort of a hamadryad, and represents the aggressive, dangerous, and vengeful aspect of the wilds. An erlking is a blur of motion on or off the battlefield, using his powers to coordinate attacks against despoilers, manipulate terrain to his side’s advantage, and call in reinforcements when his forces would be overwhelmed. When his services are not needed, an erlking retires to the realm of the fey.

Tales of the wretched mosslord have existed for as long as humanity has dared dwell amid the forests of   the world. It appears in grotesque pictographs of long dead civilizations, covering the walls of lost cities on sunken continents or hidden in overgrown jungles. So ancient is the creature that its true origin remains unknown. In the cultures whose lore and legend tell of the mosslord, it is described as the living incarnation of the forest’s vengeance against the encroachment of civilization, a fury given mind and focus toward the destruction of humanity. To date, no one has ever reported spotting more than a single mosslord at a time, prompting speculation as to whether more than a single mosslord exists, or if it is a singular entity that simply regrows itself each time it is destroyed.  Most tales of the mosslord’s intentions hold true, although the legends of there being but one mosslord are a false hope—in truth, multiple mosslords exist, and wherever one surfaces, ruin inevitably follows. Yet mosslords are hardly the simple, violent juggernauts that old legends purport. Instead, these wickedly intelligent creatures mastermind elaborate campaigns against civilization. Capable of commanding hordes of plant creatures, they typically spend months or even years seeding a target before launching an incursion—even if their attacks seem sudden and unprovoked to the victims. They are clever combatants, shielding themselves from direct attacks and avoiding melee if at all possible, in order to command and maneuver allies. Still, the creature is an able warrior in addition to having a potent arsenal of spells, and it doesn’t shy from engaging opponents in melee when directly faced with an immediate opponent. Among all humanoid forms of life, they despise humans and halflings in particular.  A mosslord has no known or ties to the fey world or to those worlds or planes beyond the material realm. Though the mosslord is no deity, it is a wholly supernatural being and the apocalyptic texts of over a dozen different religions depict its wrath. These texts often revile the mosslord and condemn those who would worship it or pay it reverence. Despite ominous warnings, history reports a handful of occasions when doom cults praised, venerated, and pledged fealty to mosslords. Some even credit or blame such cults for the creation of the first mosslords, for it seems odd that plant creatures would naturally form upon the wooden frames that hold its fungal flesh in the form of a bipedal humanoid. Regardless, such efforts tend to be short lived; as soon as the cultists capture the mosslord’s attention, they find they have only attracted its relentless and utter destruction.  The mosslord’s body consists of a large skeletal frame that towers over 15 feet tall, fashioned from rough-cut pieces of wood. A thick layer of moss encompasses this frame, creating the appearance of flesh. While a mosslord’s body appears constructed, the creature is fully sentient and highly intelligent. Despite their similar hateful and destructive views of civilization, mosslords do not cooperate with blights or whisperers, and they often compete with these strange entities for control over their woodland territories.

Elder kin to satyrs, seilenoi are primeval fey bound to the basest emotions, including lust, joy, surprise, aggression, and fear. These fey wander the world, indulging in any excuse to experience or inspire passionate feelings. New spectacles of beauty, physical adventure, and   psychoactive plants and alcohol draw their attention, and they encourage creatures they encounter to be equally experimental. Seilenoi particularly enjoy luring stodgy, honorable, or self-important beings into grandiose acts of foolishness or indulgence. Although less notorious than satyrs for sexual exploits, seilenoi possess a rugged animal magnetism and an appreciation for all sorts of carnal pleasures. They are particularly renowned for their insight and skill as storytellers and playwrights.  Like satyrs, seilenoi prefer to keep to untamed wilds where they revel in the passionate emotions of the fey and beasts that live, grow, and play there. Creatures of the forest often flock to seilenoi in small troupes or even traveling courts. Satyrs, leanan sidhe, and muses (see page 179) enjoy the artistry of a seilenos’s storytelling. Centaurs and maenads revere seilenoi for inspiring irresistibly passionate, ecstatic rage. The seilenos acts as a mercurial judge, jocular keeper of fey culture and secrets, and sometimes self-centered celebrity to these groups. Seilenoi traveling across the ocean often take on ichthyocentaurs (see page 146) as seafaring guides and honor guards. Most seilenoi get separated from their courts eventually, either because their fey followers move on to more sedate leaders or because the seilenos feels stif led and drunkenly wanders off in search of a change of pace.  Seilenoi who do not lead their own fey courts sometimes serve as jesters, emissaries, unpredictable generals, or companions for fey lords, deities, or other mighty beings. Seilenoi prove surprisingly dangerous on the battlefield, as they dash about scattering scores of enemies with every cutting joke and inspiring monologue. When dealing with more numerous foes, they confound the battlefield with seemingly natural barriers and illusory sheets of roaring flame. Others enjoy def lating the egos of powerful fey (and, occasionally, mortals) with bitingly insightful satire.  In their wanderings, seilenoi sometimes seek out new kinds of indulgence and distraction among mortals, in which case these fey generally prove themselves amiable, though gruff. Seilenoi can charm almost anyone with raucous affection or witty commentary. Those they can’t talk into joining the revelry, they generally ply with alcohol or psychotropic plants to lower the inhibitions of civilization and enable a freer expression of raw emotion. Bored seilenoi occasionally take it upon themselves to mentor mortals with exceptional self-awareness and power. Sometimes they do so while disguised with polymorph magic to avoid undue attention.  Seilenoi are passionate creatures, as thrilled by the chance to have a drunken brawl with new opponents as to explore the body of a new lover. Usually, seilenoi view combat as a sort of hunting or wrestling game, but if they recognize true hostility, they become a terrifying force. A seilenos never faces combat alone; it summons allies to distract foes if necessary and hides an ever-shifting mirage arcana while rallying allies and keeping foes off balance by manipulating their emotions. Its illusions represent the natural elements with which a seilenos is familiar, from fantastical mazes of writhing vines to confusing clouds of spores. It is particularly amused by exchanging the appearances of enemies and allies. Seilenoi have also been known to transform especially vexing foes into harmless animals or useful plants.  Although their wide range of moods tends toward joy and frivolity, all seilenoi at times indulge in the insidious thrill of violence, hatred, or madness. When filled with these dark passions, a seilenos might provoke a battle among evenly matched friends to watch the tense contest or dive headlong into the confused heart of a fray.  Seilenoi are about the same size and weight as male humans, although they tend toward the heavier end of that range.

Ancient beyond measure, the legendary green men are avatars and guardians of the primeval forest. Green men are the naturally occurring apotheosis of such woodland terrains. Most care little for other aspects of nature, from animals to geology, focusing exclusively on the flora of their home forest and the seasonal impact of weather. They grant spells enthusiastically to intelligent plants that worship them and somewhat more hesitantly to other sentient races who prove themselves friends of plants. Sometimes called “leshy kings” in esoteric texts, the enigmatic green men are said to be the ones who first taught druids the secrets of creating leshies, yet they themselves are far more powerful than these tiny creations.  Most green men keep out of the way of the “animal races” as long as they leave the forest alone, while the rare benevolent and malevolent green men actively spread their influence over their home forests. Benevolent green men are kindly and nurturing patriarchs to all within their domain, even non-plants. Their territories are blessed with beautiful flowers and peaceful groves. Malevolent green men are twisted and sadistic bullies, and are fortunately the rarest of these paragons of plant life. Their territories are marred with poisonous plants, thorny vines, and twisted trees. What few animals remain in such regions are either vicious enough to stand up to their plant tormentors or are allowed to remain to provide sport.